Statehood

The tabletop is splattered with the drying blood of your old friend.

The figure in the other sealed, full-body suit gives you a stiff nod.

Rotanev's shrine sits undisturbed under its worn wooden awning.

"I'll be off soon so get whatever you need now."

You return to the wasteland.

The monkey is still hiding in the shadows.

You unfold the cipher and remember the instructions extracted from the novel:

The vending machine awaits your selection, yet seems utterly indifferent to it.

The metal drawer slides out nearly soundlessly, revealing rows of official-looking folders.

"Back again, CASCADE? Might want to, you know, get the fuck on with it."

The fax machine hums faintly. A single sheet sits in the tray, edges curled like a beckoning finger.

"Please, if you see Karolina. Do let me know."

"Still waiting, CASCADE. Slab's getting cold."

"Shh."

"Hello again."

The hoglets are still grunting merrily among the urban detritus.

You approach your double. A faint line of drool darkens the sheet.

"Loneliest... of towns..."

"I already told you, miss. You can't come through here. Try the other entrance." He waves you off.

You return to the collapsing pneumatic system.

He ignores you, transfixed by the woman above.

The girl in the postcard still wants you to join her fan club.

You return to one of the city's ancient benches. It welcomes you.

"Hello, hero."

An assortment of cargo crates sits in waiting, adorned with faint chalk marks and bright yellow labels.

You return to the desk. Everything is right where you left it, including the pack of Suprema 100s.

The vandalised jukebox is where you left it, looking slightly more dispirited on second visit.

"You're back." She eyes you warily.

You return to the boiler.

He stares straight ahead, trying to ignore PSEUDOPOD. He looks extremely uncomfortable.

You take out the bomb again.

The girl is far too preoccupied fiddling with her fishing wire to pay any attention to you.

The man's eyes are closed. He is completely still.

The tree has fulfilled its task. Now time for you to fulfill yours.

You return to the staircase.

"I really think you'd dig this. You look like the type."

"Back again, Hershel."

H.S. Lastra's blood-obsessed pulp epic awaits you.

With awkward reverence, you approach the shrine again.

He turns his head toward you in slow-motion and barely.

The lump of flesh you extracted from HOLOCENE's head sloshes about in the mysterious red liquid.

The shrine is eerily still.

You step into the booth and press the receiver to your ear.

"Operant. Something big is happening, isn't it?"

The magic box hums its secret tune. In a dark Novessa sub-basement, your controller answers.

The sleek metal callbox stands guard.

It all happens in milliseconds. A sharp blow to your elbow, the flashlight flying out of your grasp...

"Hello again." The subeditor smiles at you with the left side of her mouth.

"Thanks again for clearing out the squatters. I won't forget that." He nods, then looks away.

Ultra Violeta remains frozen mid-song, trapped within the shimmering projection. Her music plays somewhere behind you.